


Pearls Make the Girl

by Vukovich



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:41:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27518569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vukovich/pseuds/Vukovich
Summary: Eagles in Truro/Wheal Elvan Readers:This is a stand-alone epilogue from a fest.  The tone is much lighter than usual.  Here's your happy Draco, three years post-EiT.Security Advisor Granger is having a strange day at work after being recruited to collaborate with a certain handsome Head Auror, a gorgeous Curse Breaker and a... Ron.Filth, fluff, and Furbies.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 7
Kudos: 17
Collections: Dirty Granger Fest, Wheal Elvan





	Pearls Make the Girl

**Author's Note:**

> Super duper mega thanks to my beta, Alicia,([AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mimi59327/pseuds/Mimi59327) [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/search/%40harrypotterismyhorcrux)) who knows the difference between "let him" and "made him". Mwah!

“ _Subrigo vestis_ ,” Hermione whispered, dragging her wand down her white button-down top and sensible black skirt. 

The benefit, she mused, of a boring wardrobe was that nobody noticed if she wore the same outfit three days in a row. So long as it was clean and pressed, her colleagues would assume she’d slept at home last night. And the night before. And half the nights the last few months.

“Ms. Granger,” a stern voice muttered over the wall of her cubicle, “I need to send you down to DMLE for a joint project this morning.”

She looked up to see her supervisor, Edward Scot, his impressively bald scalp shining in the fluorescent light. His usual frown was oddly conspiratorial, and it made her nervous.

“What?” She spluttered, spilling her tea. “Why?”

She rarely had cause to leave the Fifth Level Department of International Magical Cooperation offices. Her little division in the International Magical Office of Law left the department even less than others. Diplomats often came to them.

“They’ve got a trunk of Dark Arts-cursed artifacts they might have to report to the International Confederation of Wizards,” Scot said, rolling his eyes. “Something about it having come from France and being a red tape clusterfuck. They brought in a Gringotts Curse Breaker rather than use their own.”

She straightened in her chair, wiping up the spilt tea. Bringing in outside Curse Breakers wasn’t technically against protocol, but hiring one before exhausting their own resources was _highly_ unusual.

“Fine,” she relented, flicking ugly knitted bookmarks into motion to settle in the three texts on her desk, watching them float into an orderly stack at the corner. “Why me, though? Jonathan has more experience.”

Most of her work dealt with tort law, not smuggling or cursed items. Out of all of their staff… all seven of them, she _did_ have the best relationship with the ICW and British Mugwumps, though.

“Oh!” Scot’s eyebrows rose high enough to crinkle his scalp. “They’re Muggle objects.”

He hesitated, and she suspected he was nervous about blurting out something offensive.

“Have you heard of…” He looked around for coworkers within earshot. “Furbies?”

———————————

They were, indeed, Furbies. And little Matchbox cars. And other various treats and baubles. All of which hummed with Dark magic in an open trunk on a table in the cramped DMLE conference room. Who would curse children’s toys?

None of the forms on her clipboard seemed to pertain to this particular situation. She probably wouldn’t know which one to use until she got details about the sender or recipient from the Auror in charge of the case. 

She pitied whichever new recruit Harry had stuck with this task. This case would be all paperwork and no action.

As though summoned, a cursory knock sounded on the already-opening door, and a bespectacled head poked in. Sliding in the door with a glance over his shoulder, Harry himself slunk into the room.

He’d attempted something involving gel to tame his hair, but it had revolted admirably. Dark stubble shaded his jaw, and she wondered if he’d been sleeping in his office again.

“Hey, ‘Mione,” he mumbled around a mouthful of muffin. “Thanks for coming down. I’m gonna get enough grief for hiring out to Gringotts, I didn’t need backlash for fucking up the customs paperwork, too.” He handed off a thick envelope of documents to her.

Taking the envelope, she noticed he was wearing rings. Two rings, stacked on his left ring finger. A very thin band of hammered copper and one of silver with feather-like etchings. Odd.

“No problem. I live for fastidious documentation, you know,” she jabbed, brandishing the forms within the envelope.

“You’re kidding,” he said, taking another bite. “But you do.” 

Someone called down the hall, and Harry’s shoulders drooped. “I’ll check in later. I guess the guy from Gringotts is having trouble getting through security.”

“Ok, Har. Thanks,” she said, openly admiring the unusually tidy paperwork. Harry Potter _could_ write legibly, it appeared.

“And don’t touch those without the Curse Breaker,” he added, closing the door.

She huffed. “Well, duh.”

Avoiding the trunk, she got up to pace the room. Or tried to pace the room. It was only about as big as four cubicles, and barely had enough room for the table and four chairs. 

The Auror department was probably her least favorite section of the building. She’d never been in a locker room after a Quidditch match, but she assumed it was similar. Echoes of men hollering at each other, thumping each other’s backs, and wafting testosterone wasn’t welcoming. A touch exciting, but not especially welcoming.

It was nice to get out of her department, but she’d really been making great progress this week. Maybe this whole ordeal would only take a few minutes, and she could fill out the forms, submit them, and get back to her real work. And maybe she could ruffle that disgusting gel out of Harry’s hair.

The door swung in and stopped, a hand on the knob holding it half-open. The hand held the knob hesitantly, just the tips of long, pale fingers touching it, and a tendril of a black tattoo crept out from under a black shirt cuff. 

She caught Harry’s voice disappearing down the hall, and in entered a rather contradictory Draco Malfoy; somehow artfully assembled and simultaneously disheveled.

He hadn’t bothered to look her way yet, standing in the hall watching Harry leave. A trim black button-down shirt over brazenly tight black trousers graced his lean form, accentuated by shiny black boots and a glossy black and silver dragon scale belt.His lop-sided platinum hair, however, stuck straight up in the back, bent at odd angles on the short side, and was tucked casually behind an ear on the longer side.

He lifted his left hand off the doorknob to flip someone off down the hallway; Harry, presumably. His left ring finger sported a thin copper band, and a black one with some kind of zig-zag pattern to it.

Unease trickled through her. Harry never wore jewelry, but it wasn’t surprising on Draco. But the almost-matching nature of the rings… that would have been worthy of breakfast table gossip.

Chuckling, Draco stepped into the room and his face fell as he closed the door, gray eyes assessing her cooly.

“Long time, no see, _ma chatte_ ,” he drawled, expression haughty as he pointedly ignored her in favor flopping down in the hard plastic chair nearest the chest. A pearl bracelet on his wrist clattered against the tabletop as he lay his forearms against it.

“You’re certainly dressed up today,” she observed, brushing off his insult-turned-nickname, and sitting next to him.

An elegant one-shouldered shrug let her know the barb had hit. “And you’re dressed like you’re pushing a watered-down Chardonnay,” he said with a sigh, running his hands down his shirt. “Gringotts does have a dress code. Even for we rarely-consulted specialists.”

“I don’t think I’ve seen you in anything but Harry’s sweatshirts in a year, is all,” she noted softly, sorting the documentation into some semblance of order. “It’s just interesting to see you wearing your own clothes.”

Picking a fight with him right off the bat was petty, she told herself, even if he did seem to be baiting her. But that bracelet was… an interesting choice.

He lifted the hand with the pearls to hover in front of the trunk, wandless magic causing a faint, but obnoxious, whining vibration. “Haven’t had the occasion. And who says I’m wearing all my own clothes?”

She opened and closed her jaw, urging her ears to pop against the uncomfortable pressure of magic. “Those are rather tailored to not be.”

He smirked weakly, arching an eyebrow and settling his chin in his hand. “The knickers aren’t.”

Not prepared to picture Draco Malfoy in borrowed underthings, she sighed and prepared to summarize the backstory before he got to work.

“According to the requisitions, the items were likely acquired in Belgium, Germany, and or France, then sent via Muggle post to London, and Aurors were…” she trailed off, noticing he’d laid his head on his folded arms.

His back rose and fell slowly and steadily. Slightly alarmed, she rested her chin in her palm, watching him. Merlin, he was beautiful when he wasn’t being an utter bitch.

Dark lashes fluttered slightly against pale cheeks, and she resisted the urge to trace her thumb over the pout of his lower lip. The Ministry wasn’t exactly getting its money out of this consultation, but at least she had a nice view.

A tentative rap at the door, and his gray eyes snapped open, pinning her. He blinked rapidly before stretching and sitting up. “Come in,” she called.

“Rough night?” she asked with a wink. 

He had to be beyond exhausted to fall asleep on the job. And within the walls of the Ministry, probably his least favorite building apart from Azkaban.

Harry nudged the door open and entered, proudly brandishing an identification card.

“Fucking awful night, thank you,” he groused. “Potty training with the twins is _not_ going well and the baby’s cutting a set of molars and I think I might fucking die.” He turned to glare at Harry, who cringed and tentatively held the card out.

“Oh,” she said plaintively. “That does sound terrible.”

“Yes,” he sniped, accepting the plastic card from Harry. “Not everybody has a nice quiet office to sleep in.”

Harry withered under his scrutiny. Overnights were practically a requirement in her department, with all the international correspondence. Her department lounge couch had become her second bedroom, not that that was a positive thing.

“Dray, you should be able to use the contractor and employee gate now,” Harry said, turning to Hermione. “They shunted him into the parolee line.”

“Ohhh,” she sighed. That explained his attitude.

She scowled, wondering if it was possible to track down who’d made that decision this morning. Draco was better known as a Healer than anything else anymore. A Healer with a storied history in the Dark Arts, granted.

Harry shrugged and moved up behind Draco’s chair, sliding his hands to grip the slighter man’s shoulders.

Draco sighed, tucking the card in his pocket. “I got called a ‘Death-Eating, cock sucking, mother fucking ponce’, and I’m not sure… which part of that is…” he trailed off as Harry’s hands started moving.

Harry’s thumbs dug in between his shoulder blades and Draco groaned low, head falling back against Harry’s crotch. She watched, chin in her palm, as the men traded one’s grimaces and soft moans for the other’s firm caresses.

They were rather beautiful together, she mused. Harry’s tan skin against Draco’s alabaster complexion. Cool gray eyes gazing, unfocused, into sharp green ones. 

Draco’s whip-thin frame contrasted with Harry’s shorter, more muscular build. Harry had made a point of continuing the strict Auror physical training after his unwilling promotion to Head Auror, declaring “Thirty is too young to become another pudgy desk jockey.”

Draco patted Harry’s fingers, and he released his grip. The light caught their rings, and she frowned, not able to settle on a rationale, but not wanting to be intrusive.

With a deep, hitching yawn, Draco pulled himself up straight in the chair, no more alert than earlier, but lacking the scowl. Harry ruffled his blond hair and the scowl returned immediately.

Draco looked up to scold him, but was silenced with a soft _mmph_ as Harry’s mouth found his. He pulled away to the side. “Sneaky Auror.”

“Mm hm,” Harry hummed, leaning down to wrap his arms around Draco’s chest, mouth roving over the rapidly flushing pale skin of his neck.

A responding blush crept across Hermione’s cheeks as Harry’s hand drifted downward to cup the front of Draco’s trousers. With a soft gasp and slight thrust upward, his eyes sprang open, a lazy grin spreading across his face.

She huffed, not sure which one of them she was jealous of. Both of them, really. Licking up the stretch of that neck and making Draco gasp was equally appealing compared to having Harry’s hot, rough hand between her legs.

“Get a room,” she grumbled, needlessly shuffling her pile of forms.

“Mm, this is a room,” Harry mumbled against his ear, making Draco simultaneously cringe away from his mouth and grind against his hand.

Head tilted in her hand, she wondered if he was regretting wearing such tight trousers today. They couldn’t be comfortable. She bit her lip to distract from the urge to reach over and unbuckle his belt for him.

An involuntary surprised harrumph escaped her as Harry’s hand disappeared into the black trousers, drawing a blushing pink tip just above the waistband. Draco’s right hand gripped the table, but his left hand clutched Harry’s dark hair as he trailed softening kisses as far as the shirt collar would allow.

“I meant a bedroom,” she added, annoyance rapidly giving way to her own arousal as she shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

Grey eyes drifted over her, not stopping to focus. “We have a bedroom.”

“I’m very, very well-aware. Maybe you should-“

“Don’t pretend watching us together doesn’t dampen your drawers, _ma chatte_ ,” Draco drawled, licking his lips in challenge.

Merlin Almighty, they were incorrigible, she thought. And gorgeous. And both kept looking at her, goading each other on.

“Not _at work_ you deviants!” she hissed. Harry’s hand had disappeared back into Draco’s pants, where it was steadily eliciting eager whimpers.

“She thinks we’re deviants?” Harry froze in mock surprise, looking down to Draco. “Did you hear that?”

“Mm,” he hummed lazily, eyes focusing. “I did, _mon emmerdeur_.”

Harry scowled down at him at the nickname, and Draco rolled his eyes. 

“ _Mon coeur_ ,” Draco purred, pulling the dark mop of hair down to nuzzle into it. “And she doesn’t even know the things we’ve already done in this building.”

“Do I want to know?” she asked, trying to ignore the dampness between her skin and her knickers.

Both men stared at her flatly before turning to grin at each other. Dumb question, she thought. They knew damn well that she wanted to know every sordid detail.

Draco released Harry’s hair and reached down to tuck himself back in his trousers. “There aren’t exactly spells to keep a wizard’s pants on. At least not in the DMLE areas.”

“You didn’t,” she blurted, shocked. “How… what?!” The temperature in the room had increased steadily, she thought, unbuttoning the top two buttons of her shirt.

Harry nodded, standing. “Nor are there any such restrictions on the lifts.” They shared a tight-lipped grin.

“Oh, you two are awful,” she guffawed, more impressed than disgusted. The mental images of them hastily groping, trousers around their thighs, one of them pressed against the wall of the lift, was nearly enough to make her climax on the spot.

“No wards against it in the disarmament chamber,” Harry added, deep in thought.

“Nor on Level Five,” Draco said, smirking at her. “Not even in International Magical Cooperation.” He lifted his hand to run the pearl bracelet over his lips, hiding an expectant smirk.

Harry raised his eyebrows at Draco in warning, earning him a wicked grin in return.

“You. Didn’t,” she spat, glaring at Draco, who was on the verge of absolutely tittering, eyes glinting as his grin spread. 

Harry took a step back and held up his hands in non-involvement.

“Surprisingly, or maybe _not_ so surprisingly, given her own proclivities…” Draco led.

Taking another step back, Harry rested a hand on the doorknob, preparing to outrun the blast.

“There were no such charms or wards against fucking on the desk of one H. Granger, last week, whoever-”

“ _You stupid wankers!_ ” Her cheeks flushed as her temper rose. “You’re lucky I don’t end up sacked for your dumb shenanigans!”

“We didn’t _both_ wank...” Draco mused, chair turned toward her, elbows on his knees. The bastard literally got off on antagonizing her.

Harry was choking back laughter and slowly opening the door as she leaned forward toward Draco, their knees touching. He was entirely too calm, running the pearl bracelet across his lips, catching them gently before releasing them, making a show of reminiscing about the incident.

“Harry!” she yelled, head snapping around to catch Harry mid-escape. “Did you seriously fuck him on my desk?!”

“Uhm, technically,” he stammered, body half in the hall. “No…”

The door clicked shut, and Draco clicked his tongue in disappointment. She wheeled on him next, a scathing screed on the tip of her tongue about how hard she’d worked for her position and how little they seemed to care.

It had taken her nearly a decade in the Muggle higher education system, _plus_ a Ministry internship, _plus_ months of independent study, and these two blunderfucks knew damn well that she’d be implicated if they got cau-

Draco’s lips pressed a chaste kiss on her forehead. Soft lips skimmed to her ear, whispering, “We thought you’d like knowing the Head Auror got bent over in your cubicle and railed senseless. Special occasion and all.”

“I…” she stammered, the thought of Draco, naked and flushed, grinding against an eager sweaty Harry was dissolving her anger entirely. Desire pooled, hot and heavy, and she froze, eager for him to continue, but too embarrassed to ask.

He bit his lip, watching her reaction. “He was absolutely incoherent by the time I let him come on your desk,” he said placidly against her temple. “And yes, I protected your books.”

“I… I just…” she spluttered. Secretly, she loved it. Professionally, she was appalled. 

Such a strange, perfect, knowing tribute. They may indeed be deviants, but they knew her well.

“Mm hm,” he hummed, resting his lips at the corner of her jaw. “And I suspect we weren’t the first ones to come in that sad little cubicle, were we?”

When she didn’t respond, he nipped her earlobe, eliciting a surprised squeak.

“Were we, _ma chatte_?” He repeated, pulling their chairs together, spreading her knees outside his in the process.

“No,” she whispered, eagerness overriding embarrassment. Cool air whispered against her inner thighs, and her breath shuddered in.

“So, you…” he drawled, lips moving against her neck. “Touch yourself under that desk, hm?”

His hands were clasped casually on the seat between them, a thumbnail idly picking at the texture of the hard plastic on the edge of her chair. The tiny vibration of it was a gross insult to what she wanted from those hands, and she knew he knew. He always knew.

“Sometimes,” she whispered, leaning her shoulder closer to his mouth. His hands were warm on the tops of her spread thighs, and she swallowed thickly.

Soft lips nipped at the skin over her collar bone, and goosebumps cascaded down her arms, nipples hardening in response.

“I would ask you what you imagine,” he licked a quick, hot line across the skin above her shirt toward her neck, “but I think I already know. Don’t I?”

She nodded, grateful he wouldn’t make her say it out loud. It was always an option, though. He would reward her if she could form the words to parry his seduction.

If she told him every filthy detail of what she fantasized about at her desk, he’d slide a hand up her skirt and she’d climax around his fingers within the minute.

“Want to know what _we_ were imagining?” he said with a wicked glint in his eye. His hips slid forward, knees spreading her thighs wide open.

Lips pressed, suppressing a whine, she nodded eagerly. The hand with the bracelet traced idle lines up and down her inner thigh, raising goosebumps.

“We played a game where we pretended _you_ were spread out on the desk like the Ministry’s perfect little whore.” Draco slid his fingers up to trace under the edge of her knickers, and she squirmed. “Just like this, really.”

He looked up to her for a response, but only a soft whimper came out.

“So eloquent.” He teased a fingertip over the slickness of her entrance. “He really does make the best noises when he’s stuck between a cock and a wet-”

The doorknob rattled, and he sat up, drawing his hands back into his lap. As the door swung open, he turned his chair away, resettling his elbows on the table. 

She sat, legs spread wide, lips parted, panting, staring at the side of his head, in full view of Harry and anyone in the hall.

“Uh…” Harry mumbled, closing the door behind him. “Hate to come between you, but-”

“That is _literally_ your favorite thing, Harry,” Draco huffed.

“I-” Harry stammered. “Yeah. Fair. Anyway, I’m going down to Ministry Munchies for tea. Who wants what?”

“I’d like a muzzle and a coffee,” Draco mumbled into his tented fingers. “Terrier-sized muzzle.”

He was fading quickly, she thought. If he was going to keep himself awake with the adrenaline of teasing her, this would be a long morning. And frustrating, to boot.

Maybe he really _had_ been up all night with their cranky kids. It was kind of cute. Kind of really cute.

“I’d love a latte and a scone,” she told Harry. “And maybe bring this pitiful bastard three coffees.”

“Got it,” Harry nodded.

“Do _not_ bring this pitiful bastard three coffees, Harry,” Draco snapped. “I think we’ve all seen what happens.”

Harry winked at her and headed out. She grinned, hoping he would make good on it. “Draco, you may just have to drink a pot of coffee and tell me all about the horrible, sexy Muggleborn girl at school again.”

“Ugh,” he grunted, flopping his head onto his folded forearms. “You’re never going to stop bringing that up.” He caught the pearl bracelet in his lips again, choosing one to scrape against his teeth.

“Nope. It was far too entertaining,” she admitted, focus shifting. “What’s with the bracelet?” 

“Special occasion,” he mumbled into his sleeves, like that meant anything.

Running through her schedule in her mind and coming up blank, she asked, “What special occasion?”

His shoulders lurched as he huffed a breath and turned his face toward her. “Knew it. Ron owes me a bottle of Firewhiskey.” He refolded his arms, curling his hands together and settling his chin on his wrists. “A good bottle.”

He slapped a hand against the cursed trunk, and she gasped at the suddenness of it. With a hum and a snap like breaking twine, it was suddenly just a chest.

He turned a hand over in invitation. “We can unpack it now.”

“Show off.” Not at all ready to give up on the story behind the pearls, and maybe by proxy the rings, she pointed out, “I thought you were… how did you put it ‘Glamorously Destitute’?”

“Luxury simply finds me.” He shrugged, spinning the bracelet around with a thumb. She noted the clasp was an elegantly-swirled ‘B’. “It was a gift.”

“Another mysterious family heirloom found by the Goblin who wants to get in your pants?” It would be a cute infatuation if the Goblin in question wasn’t the Gringotts Treasurer and a rather formidable magician in his own right.

“Yes, if you must know.” He sighed, lurching up to his elbows. “And no, I have no intention of pursuing that, so don’t ask. Pointy teeth.” 

He peeked his head into the trunk and eyed a Furby suspiciously. “But I’ll be sure to let you know if I change my mind. In writing. In triplicate.” Glancing at her clipboard, he added, “You should have a form for that.”

She cocked her head, considering the implications of such a form. “Granger, what the fuck are these?”

“Toys, _Malfoy_.”

She opened her mouth to explain the nature of a Furby as best she could, but a soft thunking shook the door. Looking to him for an explanation, the thunk sounded again, and Draco rolled his eyes.

“Will you let that fucking knob in, _Hermione_?” he grumbled, lining the horrid little animatronic creatures up in a row.

Catching on, she got up and let Harry in, who, sure enough, had been gently head-butting the door. With a slump, she noted he only had three cups. So much for getting Draco wound up and letting him loose, she thought.

Harry beckoned her to lean closer with a tilt of his chin. “Four shots, whipping cream, and caramel syrup.” He grinned, handing her the bag of scones. She grimaced. That wasn’t a drink, that was an ice cream topping.

Winking at her again, he set the cup and an unrequested scone in front of Draco, who was blowing in a Furby’s ear for some reason. She shook her head at Harry, eyes wide in alarm.

Shit, Draco would be furious at them both. When he was done bouncing off the walls like a hummingbird full of Veritaserum, that was. 

Harry came to linger next to her by the door. His arm slid around her waist, and she leaned in, the hard line and warmth of him familiar. 

“I’m not taking any of the blame if he ingests that much caffeine.” She took a long draw from her latte and sighed in appreciation.

He huffed in annoyance and gave her a squeeze. “Dray, that drink _might_ have a little extra kick to it.” 

Draco waved him off, rings glinting in the overhead light. He’d moved on to the Matchbox cars, and was listlessly lining them up in front of the Furbies.

The oily feel of Dark magic wafted off the items, but it didn’t appear to bother him. She wondered if he was arranging them into some kind of pattern. A Furby seance.

It didn’t look like he was in a hurry to disarm them at all.

“Better, ‘Mione?” Harry asked, gently turning her hips toward him. 

“Yes, thank you.” If Draco chose to drink that concoction, at least he’d been warned.

“He really does look like shit this morning," Harry muttered. "I think he’s been having Seer dreams again. And I was here all night waiting for a report from Ballycastle.”

“Hm. I’m no better. I slept in the Level Five lounge waiting for a Mugwump from Australia to Floo in. Wanker never showed.”

“Sometimes, I wonder why we don’t just have dormitories.” He swirled his tea in the paper cup.

She shrugged, having wondered that, too. “Nowhere for families, I suppose.”

He hummed his agreement, thumb idly rubbing small circles on her lower back. “Ron take the kids to the Burrow this morning?”

Her ear nestled against his chest, cheek following. His jacket was soft and smelled like him; woodsmoke, browned butter, and a hint of Draco’s shampoo. His slow, steady heartbeat was soothing, and she sighed. “Mm hm. I assume so, anyway. Molly’s going to spoil the hell out of them. He said he had a new shipment of jewelry settings coming into Wheezes this morning.”

Harry’s breath hitched, and she looked up at Draco, not realizing she’d been laying flat out on Harry’s chest. Draco took a small sip of the drink that had been placed in front of him. Then a much, much larger one.

Finishing the last dregs of his tea, Harry pitched the cup in the bin in the corner, and circled his arms around her, leaning down to her ear. “Next time you’re here all night, come down and check my office, hm?”

“Oh,” she exhaled in soft surprise. “Ron and Draco might not be thrilled by that prospect. Teething and potty training and all that.” 

Harry shrugged indifferently. “We’re already here. No harm, no foul.”

It had never occurred to her that a racy book and her own fingers weren’t her only options at 2 AM on the lounge couch. His hands pressed her hips firmly against him, and she settled for running one palm up his chest while the other held her drink.

She glanced back at Draco, who was downing the caffeine and fructose abomination with alarming speed. He’d pulled a KinderEgg and two troll dolls out of the trunk, flicking their hair back and forth disapprovingly.

“Have you ever actually been in my office, ‘Mione?” Harry said with a jerk of realization, hands coming to rest firmly on her ass. She shook her head, and he beamed.

“Dray!” he barked, and was answered with a disinterested grunt. “I’m going to show Hermione my office.”

“You’re just gonna wank on _everyone’s_ desk this week, aren’t you?” he sniped, brandishing a troll doll accusingly at Harry. “Don’t have too much fun.”

————————————

Harry was talking about the furniture in his office, and Hermione simply couldn’t care less. What she did care about was that he’d removed the soft jacket she’d enjoyed nuzzling, and had nothing but a rather thin, rather tight t-shirt on under it. It clung indecently to his chest and shoulders, the Holyhead design barely obscuring his nipples.

Ron’s t-shirt, now that she looked at it. One of his old Harpies shirts. She wasn’t sure Harry and Ron would ever grow out of their communal laundry habits. It was weird, and dumb, and she loved it. 

Most things involving Ron were weird and dumb and she loved them. And him. Their coded flower bouquets, doing research for his store-related projects at night, snuggling up in the big bed that always had room for whoever was awake.

“…and then the sofa sprouted glorious Thestral wings, and we flew away to St. Ives-“

“Harry, what the _fuck_ are you talking about?” She snorted, sitting up straight on the boring navy sofa.

“I have been saying random impossible things for several minutes while you wore your dopey ‘I’m thinking mushy thoughts about Ron’ grin,” he snarked, flopping at the opposite end of the sofa and kicking his shoes off. 

Red socks with gold bands wiggled under her butt as he made himself comfortable. She sank into the comfortable familiarity of him. They’d spent many an evening exactly like this in the Gryffindor common room, but usually with Ron in the armchair next to her. Following the line of her elbow on the armrest, she smiled, noting the position of the empty navy blue chair in just the right place.

Harry cleared his throat. “He’ll be here in about an hour,” he said presumptively, scooting his toes further under her for emphasis.

“Ron’s coming here?” Ron never came to Ministry Headquarters. “Why would he do that?”

Harry shrugged, sliding down the sofa and hooking a foot under each of her thighs. “Something about a special occasion.”

Hermione scowled. That was the third mention of a special occasion this morning. What could it be? 

If she were being promoted, would they have notified the Head Auror before her? Would they promote her without telling her? They’d certainly railroaded Harry into his position. What kind of promotion could it be? Scot wasn’t retiring, and the only position above hers that she’d consider would be as a British Mugwump. Did the Head Auror have to approve the placement of a new ICW representative? It seemed plausible.

“Earth to Granger…” Harry sang, scooting against the backrest of the couch, offering her the open edge along his body with a pat.

Somewhat grudgingly, she laid down on her side next to him, head on his chest, still worried what this special occasion was. Lounging about on a couch at work felt wrong, as well. She was forgetting something important, _and_ slacking.

Maybe _that’s_ what the special occasion was? Had she royally fucked something up? Something so important that the Head Auror was involved, but consoling her before the axe fell?

“Is it work-related?” she inquired, drawing the knee of her top leg up over his, rolling into him slightly. Falling off the sofa would add insult to slothfulness, she figured.

“Nope,” he popped, settling his close arm about her waist, hand firmly on her hip.

Disappointment and relief both flooded her. For as exciting as a promotion would be, the dread that she’d dropped the ball on something important was overwhelming. But that didn’t mean she hadn’t forgotten something serious.

“Is it something… historically important?” she speculated, nipping at her bottom lip in thought. Maybe an anniversary from the war?

The thin fabric of his t-shirt somehow smelled even better than him alone. The combined scents of him and Ron lulling her body even as her mind spun.

“Hm. Yes and no,” he said cautiously.

His hand slipped inside the top of her skirt to idly stroke the skin of her hip while his far hand came to rest over hers on his chest.

“Well, which is it, Harry? Is it a historically important event or no?” she huffed. “Should I have decorated my desk and brought cupcakes?”

“Oh, no, nothing like that, no,” he said resolutely, bringing her fingers up to his chin, scraping them against his stubble. “I’m not going to tell you if you do guess it, though. Ron would kill me.”

“Gah!” He squeaked in surprise as she bit his nipple through his shirt. “ _At work_ , Security Advisor Granger?!”

“That’s what you get for keeping secrets, _Head Auror_ Potter,” she said defiantly. 

Or as defiantly as she could while running her lips over his nipple again for good measure. He inhaled sharply at the light brush.

Circe’s slit, he made the best noises, she mused, hand venturing down to rest on his taut stomach. Ron’s voice was adept at skirting the line between romance and authority. Draco’s filthy, skilled mouth was glorious to behold, and beautiful in rapt silence. 

But Harry? Harry made _sounds_. Surprised yips and pleased hums and, her personal favorite, the deep groan that shook his whole chest when a touch edged him ever closer to climax.

A defensive warning grunt vibrated the chest under her cheek, her least favorite of his utterances. “Hands to yourself, itchy witch,” he chastised, pulling her wandering fingers away from the waistband of his trousers.

She cleared her throat for emphasis, “Uhm, hypocrite?” She glanced at her hip, where his hand was still roving the skin between her waist and ass freely. His fingers wound around the band of her panties and paused.

“Mm hm,” he said, and a whisper of wandless magic and cold air skimmed her sex.

“Did you just-” she gasped, horrified.

He hiked her knee up sharply onto his hips, holding it in place with his far hand. His other flipped her skirt up, exposing her entirely. His fingers slid freely down the crevice of her backside. Of their own accord, her hips pressed her mound against his hip in a slow, subtle pattern.

“Mm hm,” he repeated, trying to suppress a grin and failing. “Vanished, never to return.”

She pouted a touch. Those were new knickers.

Goosebumps and trepidation crept up her as her exposed sex rubbed against his hip. She cringed, feeling her own wetness against his trousers.

He licked his lips, looked down and smiled at her hesitation. “No wards on the door. No Muffliato.” 

His fingers crept behind her to trace along her slick folds, teasing. Fuck, she was still so wet from Draco’s earlier teasing. Embarrassed little whimpers fell from her lips every time his fingers approached her core.

“Absolutely nothing to keep anyone from coming in to see you like this, Hermione,” he mused, dipping a fingertip and sliding it just along the inside of her slit.

“Harry, I-” She started to complain, but trailed off as the tip of his finger found her entrance. Gods, she wanted more. So much more. 

“Hmm?” he hummed, gloating. “Who might come in? Is that what you were going to ask?” His finger slid easily inside, and she moaned against his chest, hips arching back to meet his hand. 

A frustrated huff snorted from her as his arm relaxed, refusing to let her drive herself onto his finger.

“Well, most of the Aurors are out on cases. And the others have probably gone to lunch,” he said, mulling it over. “Ron could come in early.”

Her free hand pulled his hips tighter as she ground against him at the thought of Ron finding them like this.

“Or Draco,” she countered, skimming her hand down the growing bulge in his trousers.

His free hand snatched hers by the wrist and held it across his waist. Pouting, her lips found his nipple again.

He retaliated by pressing his finger more firmly inside her, eliciting a gasp.

“Draco’s still unraveling curses.” Harry said, cocking an ear. “Hear it?”

She held her breath and listened. A whine like a faraway dentist’s drill was just barely audible, stopping and starting, testing various patterns.

“Aren’t we supposed to be supervising him?” she mumbled lazily, far more concerned with chasing the orgasm he seemed hellbent on refusing her.

“We are,” he replied coolly, withdrawing his finger. She whined at the loss, cringing a touch at her own neediness.

His finger returned with a second one, and she hummed eagerly. He took his time sliding both digits along her crease before pressing them into her core.

“He hates an audience,” he said. She looked up at him doubtfully. “For Dark magic, at least. Makes him all tetchy.”

His fingers _finally_ sank in up to the knuckle, and she sighed, muscles tightening around his fingers. Sweet tension built deep inside her as she thrust back against his hand.

Breathing growing ragged, she buried her face in his shirt. Embarrassment over her naked ass working against his hand in full view of the empty room had disappeared under the weight of her approaching climax. 

Each press of his knuckles against her sex and brush of his fingers inside her brought her incrementally closer, until she was teetering on the brink.

“Oh, gods, Harry, I-” she panted, and he… stopped.

His fingers withdrew suddenly with a slick pop, and he flicked her skirt back down over her rear.

She took a deep breath to scold him, but the rattle of the doorknob killed the rant brewing in her chest. Nothing moved, and they both lay frozen.

“Hate to interrupt-” Draco whispered, head popping up over the back of the couch.

“Merlin’s tits!” Harry yelled, clutching Hermione like a shield. “ _Liar._ ”

Draco hummed in consideration, chin rocking side to side on the back of the sofa, taking in their dispositions.

“I’m afraid I have need of a pedant and her stack of forms,” he drawled. “And it smells like a witch in heat in here.”

Harry grunted in agreement, sliding his sodden fingers across her opening, eliciting a soft whimper. Draco paused, mouth parted mid-speech, gaze burning.

He blinked rapidly, drew a deep breath, and turned to Harry, swallowing thickly.

“Also, Potter,” he commanded, gaze mockingly stern. “Your trousers are on, and I disapprove. Granger, I’m disappointed in your skirt’s… existence. Hideous.”

“Her knickers are gone, Dray, that’s got to be worth something,” Harry countered.

“She’s got a pair of knickers around here somewhere,” he replied, standing and pressing his hips against the sofa back, framing his own package nicely for Harry’s view.

Hermione sat up, smoothing her skirt under her, rather grateful it nearly reached her knees.

“You drank the whole thing, didn’t you, Draco?” She cringed, slipping her shoes back on and standing.

“ _And_ the rest of your latte you so kindly left. And then I had two scones. And then a _veeeery_ handsome young Auror brought me tea,” he dragged out, holding Harry’s eye.

Harry shrugged. “That’s impressive. The caffeine. Not the Auror. Bunch of degenerates in this department.”

Draco leaned over the couch and unbuttoned Harry’s trousers before his wrists were swiftly caught in one of Harry’s hands. Grinning salaciously, he tugged against Harry’s grip, testing. 

Harry responded by sucking his own fingers clean, Draco watching him from inches away, immobile. With a scowl, Harry released him and refastened his trousers.

“I was just checking for these degenerate Aurors. I think I found one.” Draco righted himself and made a show of straightening his cuffs. “Psst. _Ma chatte_ , I think they call him the _Head_ Auror for a reason.”

Hermione swallowed a chuckle, turning her back to the scene as she made for the door. 

“Granger!” He sang, grabbing her wrist and twirling himself into a lecherously-close ballroom hold against her. “I had the _filthiest_ dream about you last night. The likes of which I haven’t had in… two years? Give or take?”

She nodded dumbly, mouth dry. His dreams were rarely just dreams. Especially when they involved her.

“It’s good timing, hm?” he whispered, mostly to himself, eyes distant.

He attempted to pull her into a simple box step, and rolled his eyes as her feet fumbled.

Godric’s gullet, she thought, he hadn’t had this much coffee since their first night together. Grinning at the memory of him confessing his pubertal obsessions with her body, she slid her hands down to cup his ass.

His chin rubbed the top of her head, and he laid his cheek on her hair. “I put fresh sheets on the bed this morning for the witch with the itch.”

His body pressed flush against her, heat pouring through the soft black material under her hands. The teakwood scent of his shampoo was stronger, kicked up by his movement and a light sweat. 

She inhaled a deep breath, rolling in the lingering aroma of Ron’s shirt on Harry, and Draco in front of her. Relishing the subtle scents of the three of them. The memories of their bodies, the contrasting textures of their skin, the differing timbres of their moans, all roiled through her mind to coil deep in her hips, begging for release.

He sighed and hugged her tight against him.

“There she is,” he whispered. “Be a good little witch and fill out your requisitions.”

————————————

“Medusa’s Müllerians!” Hermione spat, before quickly covering her mouth. The hell with it, she thought. These forms were worthy of worse expletives.

If anyone heard her swearing alone in the conference room, it would be passing Aurors, and they wouldn’t give a damn; half the words she heard rebounding down the hall were obscene.

Or maybe being called a “knob-gobbling Thestral-catcher” was a compliment of sorts?

A surprising number of those obscenities were disappointingly prejudiced, which begged the question of whether Harry didn’t care, or the newer Aurors didn’t know their boss was abundantly flexible. 

How anyone in the UK magical community could _not_ be aware after he’d had it published in Witch Weekly, she didn’t know. It was a tasteful, but rather racy photoshoot. With Draco’s ex-fiance. Still a point of contention three years later.

On cue, Contention Embodied strode in, a clipped ring of “-utt fuck-” cut off with the door’s quick opening and closing. Blowing out a long, pursed-lip breath, he sat on the edge of the table, leg immediately shimmying into a fidgety bounce.

“Granger-“ he addressed her, stopping short at her scowl. “Sorry. _Hermione._ Love. Darling. Most favorite cunt-haver.”

Her scowl faded and returned en force. “‘Favorite cunt-haver’ is not a term of endearment.”

“ _Most_ favorite cunt-haver,” he corrected, scooping up three Furbies and considering them thoughtfully.

Prepared to argue about nicknames, she paused, open-mouthed, and watched as he tossed one Furby in the air, then a second.

The first tumbled onto the table, and he tossed the third as the second glanced off his shoulder, rolling to the door. A snicker tugged at her lips watching him fumble.

The third Furby hit the floor between his feet with a crunch. Glaring at it for a moment, he kicked it under the table and took a seat in the chair. Her nostrils flared as she tried to speak.

“Did you-” she gasped, on the verge of braying. “Did you think you could fucking _juggle_?” Tears threatened to spill over, and her chest burned trying to hold in her laughter.

“I did, _ma chatte_. I really did,” he admitted, resting his chin in his hand.

“Oh, Merlin’s tits!” She guffawed, composure crumbling. 

“You didn’t even catch a single one,” she wheezed. “Oh, Godric. And I think you broke at least two of them.”

A faint blush graced his cheeks, and she tamped down her laughter. Gods, he had no idea how certain he’d looked and how utterly he’d failed.

“How do you know when they’re broken?” He picked up one of the survivors, a creature with brown and white tufts of faux fur and a yellow beak.

Reaching over, she flicked the small switch on the underside. Gears stuttered into action, and the Furby’s hard plastic eyelids and beak opened and closed erratically.

He looked on in horror as a recorded, _Ooooh, hungryyyy…_ came from the toy, out of sync with the beak.

A repulsed hiss leaked from his grimace, and the fur burst into flames with a soft whoosh.

“Shit shit shit,” she whispered, fumbling for her wand. “ _Extinguo_.”

The charred plastic and metal skeleton still clacked and whirred, and he flung it to the table, scraping his hands off on his trousers in disgust.

“It’s just a toy.” Hermione reminded him, reaching over to flick the switch back off.

“Abominations,” he groused, pouting. “But not cursed anymore. Not magically, at least.” He poked the singed form with ample suspicion.

“Fill out one of these for each of them, and you will likely live the rest of your life without ever seeing a Furby again,” she promised, sliding him a stack of papers. There was an excellent chance she’d be surprising him with a hidden Furby in the near future. Halloween was only a few months away.

He accepted a quill from her, and she settled in, watching his fingers work was a bit of a guilty pleasure of hers. Not because it was particularly erotic, simply because he’d stop out of bashfulness and feign annoyance if he noticed.

On every form, he filled out the blanks describing the items and type of magic contained in a blocky left-handed print, then transferred the quill to his right hand for a very elegant, very Malfoy signature. 

Perfunctory print from the left, calligraphy from the right. Gut-deep Dark magic from the left, rehearsed wand use on the right. Draco on the left, The Malfoy Heir on the right. A bittersweet contradiction, she thought.

“And now one of these for each of the other toys,” she preened, trading him for another stack of forms. “I’m going for a walk around to find the loo, I’ll be back.” He muttered something about wanking on desks as the door clicked shut. 

The halls were oddly silent, despite the overall hustle and bustle. Had all the yelling earlier been directed at Draco? If so, no wonder he’d been jumpy enough to light a Furby on fire.

The loo was disappointingly similar to the one in her department, and she turned the corner back to the hall. Harry’s disappearing back swiftly distanced itself from the conference room, headed toward the lifts. He looked busy, so she watched him go as she approached the room.

“ _Mon coeur_ , I don’t think it matt-“ Draco cooed, turning to the opening door as she entered. “Oh. Good. The statutes slut has returned.”

“You aren’t wrong, so I’ll take the compliment.” Sorting the papers in order, she noticed there wasn’t one for the cursed KinderEgg. And the bauble still had the oily-feeling sheen of Dark magic on it.

Resisting the urge to touch the egg herself, she turned to ask him about it. His lips ran over the shirt cuff where the pearls had been. He’d had them on when she'd stepped out a few minutes ago. How had they disappeared in a few short minutes?

“Did Harry steal your pearls for starting a fire in here?” she taunted. It would make sense if he’d been alerted to a wandless combustion spell having been used in his department.

Draco smiled softly, “No, but he did hide them. I was going to give them to you later, but you can have them now if you can find them.” He shifted expectantly in his chair.

“I will consider your scavenger hunt,” she offered, holding a finger up, “after you explain why we still have a cursed KinderEgg on the table.”

The fact that Harry had hidden them and that Draco was wiggling in his seat instead of glancing suspiciously about the room gave her a big clue as to where the bracelet had gone.

He rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically, knees bouncing in a complicated but steady pattern. “So… This KinderEgg, whatever it is, has a layer of Blood Magic over it. And mediocre chocolate, by the smell of it.”

She shrugged, “High standards, you. But go on.”

It had been ages since they’d worked together on anything academic, she thought, listening to him ramble about Blood Magic. Not since he taught her his stealthy, backward Legilimency methodology, which she had to admit, she’d slipped into using at work entirely too often.

“So, I’m waiting till Ron gets here, because he’ll have his Blood knife on him, and Harry _explicitly_ and in _no_ uncertain terms said I should _never_ bring mine into Ministry Headquarters again, after that whole… thing…” He trailed off, hand twirling at the wrist, letting her fill in the details on her own.

“That whole ‘Death Eater Stabs Auror Harry Potter in Ministry Lobby with Cursed Dark Magic Blade’ headline incident? That whole thing?” she asked wryly. Merlin, that had been a clusterfuck.

Huffing and rolling the KinderEgg in his hands, he announced indignantly, “I did not _stab_ him. I just threw it at him to get his attention.”

“Mm hmm,” she hummed, drumming her nails on the table. “That made it so much better.”

Watching him roll the damn egg in his hands was giving her ideas. Or memories, more precisely. Security Advisor Granger may or may not have owned an unlawfully-magicked egg-shaped sex toy. 

And it may or may not have been in her desk drawer upstairs. And it may or may not have been given to her, intimately, from behind, by one Draco Malfoy several years ago.

A creeping cold sensation in the outside corner of one eye was her only hint he was using Legilimency. He’d said that hers felt like the negative weight of feathers behind the eyes, whatever that meant. But it was a hell of a lot more subtle than the smash and grab tactics they’d learned at Hogwarts.

“Hmm… I should have rummaged through your drawers after I cleaned off your desk, _ma chatte_ ,” he said with a smirk. “Shall I rummage through your drawers now?”

He demonstrably studied the KinderEgg, then shook his head disapprovingly. “Such loud, filthy thoughts you have.” He clucked his tongue primly, rolling the egg to her.

It wobbled its way into her waiting hands, toy prize clattering metallically as it turned. The Blood Magic didn’t repulse her the way the curses on the other objects had. It felt as familiar as her own magic, really. She’d spent countless evenings watching him teach Ron to wield it.

Of all the things Ron and Draco could have bonded over, it had been Ron’s propensity to get into trouble with magic and Draco’s ability to get him out of it that had united them. And dumb antiquated Pureblood traditions. And Molly Weasley’s baking.

“Ugh, never think the word ‘bromance’ in my presence again,” he scoffed. “I like your cum dumpster reveries better.”

“Wow.” She said plaintively. “Such a way with words. Just… wow.”

“Tell me I’m wrong,” he said, rising from his chair, stretching languidly, the bulge in his trousers very deliberately at her eye level. “Tell me… that night… that you didn’t want as many loads in your hot little cunt as you could possibly get. And tell me you don’t want that again. Today.”

The blood drained from her face and rebounded in a furious flush, creeping down her chest. He made a point of not looking down at her, letting her stew in her own fantasies. Heated tension gathered low in her pelvis as her mind spun, not gaining traction. 

There were no words for _How dare you gods yes please please please_.

He tapped a finger to her temple. “So loud, witch in heat.” Rings glinted as his hand went back to his side, and she frowned, closing her mind off.

“Hermiiiiiione,” he drawled. “Want to guess where Harry hid the pearls? You’ve been rather transfixed by them all day. I might have to wear the earrings around you.”

“I… uhm.” The image of him transposed over Vermeer’s ‘Girl with a Pearl Earring’ painting made her stall in appreciation. “I’m not sure I want them if Harry put them where I think he did.”

Leaning against the table next to her chair, he looked down, perplexed. “Where-” he began, and then snorted a laugh. “Oh, gods, no, but I’m going to consult you instead of him next time I want to hide something.”

“So he did _not_ shove a pearl bracelet up your ass while I was in the loo?” she specified, really wishing the long line of his thigh wasn’t so close to her side. And those stupid tight trousers. Trousers with a suspicious line of tiny round bulges around one much more prominent one.

“Ah, no,” he condescended. “Plenty that could go wrong there. But I think you have an idea.”

“I think I do,” she said, trying to sound academic. “Is it enough to guess where they are?”

“Tsk tsk,” he clucked, setting his hands behind him on the table, leaning his torso back slightly. “You have to _get_ them if you want them.”

Godric, it was a tempting offering if she’d ever seen one. Cool grey eyes watched her patiently while she chewed her lip in thought.

This was a whole different scenario, professionally, compared to what she and Harry had done in his office. Hell, there was an actual form she could fill out to absolve that. It was just an entanglement with a coworker on Ministry time.

Draco, though. There was no form to excuse unzipping a Death Eater in the Auror department. And not just unzipping, she admitted to herself. Once she could see him, she would touch him. And once she could touch him, she’d end up tasting him. And she wouldn’t stop there.

There was definitely no policy regarding hiking up one’s skirt and riding a known war criminal on a DMLE conference table. Then again, Harry had apparently gotten away with it. Repeatedly.

“ _Ma chatte_ ,” he purred, reaching out to wind one of her curls around his finger. “I do love your brilliant mind, but you’re very much overthinking this.”

Letting the curl spring back, he reached for her hand. She assumed he was going to bend down for a characteristically pompous kiss, but he instead settled her palm firmly over his crotch. He was warm and solid under her hand, and her breath shuddered out as her body tightened.

Denying herself the satisfaction of a good squeeze served no purpose, she thought, gripping him gently.

Her thumb ran over the strand of pearls, assessing the bracelet’s position. They felt immobile, and his breath hissed when she tried to nudge them to the side.

Rolling her eyes up to him, in question, he replied sheepishly, “Uhm. Harry may have done a thorough job of securing them.”

Intrigued, her fingers traced the full line of the bracelet. It felt anchored to his skin around the base of his cock. Not tightly; the strand was too long to be constrictive, but nearly inseparable from his skin.

“Explain,” she ordered. Discomfort was written across his face as he sighed, mentally summarizing.

“I was just going to drop it in and let you find it, and then Harry said no, you’d just _Accio_ it right out and ruin the game, and then his hand was in my pants, and that was fun, and long story short, it’s hexed to my skin,” he exhaled in a rush.

“Did he seriously use a Stickfast hex for this?” she asked, either impressed by Harry’s precision, or appalled by his lack of caution.

“No…” Draco drawled, unease abating. “ _Lickfast_.”

“Oh, you are fucking kidding me, Draco Malfoy,” she barked, her hand kneading him carefully. “I’m guessing _you_ came up with that.”

He bit his lip, trying to hide a smirk. “I’ll take the credit, but no. If anyone wants to disarm Auror Potter now, they have to get close enough to lick his wand hand.”

“Huh,” she huffed. “That’s kind of genius. And a little risqué.”

“It’s Harry.” He twitched his hips a bit, bringing her attention back to her idle hand. “Anyway, I could use a hand, Security Advisor Granger. Or a tongue, more accurately.”

His hand went to his belt, deftly unbuckling it and sliding it fully out of the loops. The clatter of the metal buckle prompted an expectant quiver in her core. Pavlov’s pussy, she thought with a grin.

She quirked an eyebrow at him for taking the belt entirely out. “I might want it for something else later,” he shrugged, tossing it on the table.

The damnably tight trousers strained under her hand as she slid her fingertips up to the button, popping it open. His bottom lip slid out from between his teeth as he grinned in anticipation, watching her slide his zipper down.

A soft gasp escaped her lips as she hesitated, zipper at half mast, before yanking it down roughly, taking his trousers down with it. Her mouth opened and closed, not sure what to even say about the unexpected visage in his pants.

White cotton knickers covered in tiny faded cartoon Christmas trees greeted her. Familiar ones. 

She snorted a laugh, hands clapping over her mouth. He rocked his hips in emphasis, lips split in a wide grin as he watched her shock.

“Told you I wasn’t wearing my own knickers,” he chided, reaching down to unbutton his shirt from the bottom up.

“I thought I lost those years ago,” she mumbled into her hands, suppressing another snorting guffaw. 

Merlin Almighty. He’d sat here all day, buttoned down, prim and proper, dealt with Ministry security and cursed objects proficiently, while _wearing her stolen Christmas tree knickers_. They weren’t even nice panties, she mused. They’d come in a pack of cheap holiday underwear.

“Three years ago,” he mused, moving on to his cuffs. “Almost exactly.”

“ _Why_ would you steal these?!” Hermione demanded playfully, standing and running a hand up his thigh to the edge of the cheerfully-decorated cotton.

His shirt fell from his shoulders, and he tossed it over a chair. Gods below, he was still gorgeous, she observed. The harsh office lighting shadowed his eyes and illuminated his cheekbones like a painting in high relief. The lean planes of his torso waited patiently for her, decorated with the faint scars of the very last time Harry Potter stood against, rather than beside him.

“Honestly?” he asked, waiting for and receiving her nod. “I wanted a souvenir of the time Hermione Granger spent the night with me. I didn’t expect you to come back.”

“Hm,” she hummed. Her lips ran along the soft skin of his shoulder, thinking. His words weren’t accusatory. Not anymore, at least. Just part of their story. The first awkward, clashing night that led to many, many more. 

Swallowing past a lump in her throat, she let her hand skim the fabric to cup him. If she’d have caught him in the act back then, she’d have derided him for taking chauvinistic sex trophies. But now, years later, she knew his subdued sentimentality when it surfaced.

“I sure hope you washed them,” she teased, pressing a soft kiss against his chest. 

Against her cheek, his intricate grayscale tattoo of tendrils and flowers wound down from his shoulder to obscure his Mark. The black design was beautiful, but nothing compared to the riotous jade vines that writhed with winking fluorescent flowers when his hands flowed with Dark Magic. Illicit beauty epitomized. 

“I’ve needed to wash them _many_ times,” he whispered, gently mouthing the crest of her ear. His free hand slid over hers, pressing her palm firmly against his length.

Toeing off his shoes and kicking off his trousers, he snaked an arm around to the side zipper of her skirt. Distracted by the thought of him sullying her knickers, she failed to notice until her skirt fell to the floor.

She yipped, startled, suddenly half-naked. In a conference room.

“And I know I said I was disappointed by your skirt earlier, but I also hate your shirt, and you should take that off, too. No matter what you’ve got underneath, it’s better than _that_ ,” he said with mocking disdain, waving a hand at her plain white button-down.

“Well,” she smirked. “You’ll just have to see.” Slowly making a show of sliding the buttons through the buttonholes, clasping the fabric demurely to her chest, she held his gaze. “Prepare yourself.”

Eyebrow arched in expectation, he nodded, fingers dipping inside the knickers to adjust his growing erection upward.

She dropped her shirt, grinning as he gasped, hand clapped over his mouth. Laughing, her arms flicked the shirt to the floor.

“Hermione!” he exclaimed, chuckling. “An absolutely ancient nursing bra? You temptress. You spoil me.” 

“It’s comf-“ she blurted, but he snatched her by the front of the utilitarian off-white bra, pulling her up to him. His gray eyes were soft, corners crinkled in humor as he leaned down to gently plant a kiss on her lips.

 _”Je t’adore,”_ he whispered against her chin. “But not this bra. Especially when you don’t need it anymore.” He clucked his tongue in disapproval as his hands skimmed her breasts, meeting behind her to deftly unhook the bra. “I will make a point of finding you sexier ones this time.”

Her breath caught in her throat as he slipped the straps down her shoulders, and his words registered. She’d only recently admitted to herself that she was ready for another. Very ready. Viscerally ready.

“ _This_ time?” She squeaked, tension gathering deep in her gut at the implication. Had she been so obvious about it? Her core tightened faintly, remembering Harry’s fingers inside her, and how desperate she’d been. _Smells like a witch in heat_ , he’d said. And Harry had agreed.

He hummed in acknowledgement, dropping the ugly bra to the floor and cupping her breasts. His thumbs traced the sensitive skin underneath, making her nipples harden.

“You are… unsubtle.” He remarked, pulling her flush to him, pressing his fully hard cock against her belly. “To those who know you.”

Sighing, she leaned into him, her cheek nestling into the warmth of his upper chest. Long fingers slid through her hair, angling her head up to catch his lips in a slow, deep kiss. The soft slickness of his mouth against hers drew needy whimpers from her as her hands roved his back.

He nipped her lip hard and released her hair. Just when it was getting good, she thought, pouting.

In retaliation, she abruptly slid her middle finger down the cleft of his ass to startle him. Rather than flinch, he spread his feet and crushed his hips against her. The move did earn her a soft gasp from him, but it was one of anticipation.

Hesitating, she slid the finger lower, hiding her tentative smile against his shoulder. While a fairly common addition, she’d never gone straight for his ass before. But it was a _special occasion_.

“Is my hormonal unsubtulty the ‘special occasion’?” She asked, her other hand sliding inside the comically ugly knickers to wrap around his length. 

He shook his head, eyes closed as she stroked him, other hand still teasing the upper cleft of his ass. “No,” he whispered. “But it’s more romantic this way.”

Frowning, she racked her brain for what he could possibly be alluding to. She shrugged, wondering if perhaps there were better things to focus on.

Her conclusion was confirmed by a soft _“Ablunguo”_ whispered into her hair. Her eyebrows rose and she exhaled a surprised puff. He’d already cast a prep charm on himself. Presumptive, she thought approvingly.

A restrained breath hissed out his nose as he relaxed further into the hand behind him. His head dropped to her shoulder, patient, compliant, familiar.

Chastising herself, she realized how tense he’d been all morning. Stuck in a small room surrounded by Aurors in the heart of Ministry Headquarters was probably what his nightmares were made of.

“Let’s get the pearls off first,” she suggested, sliding her hands up to his waist. 

“Oh, right,” he mumbled drowsily, righting himself and leaning back against the table. After a deep breath, he refocused. Visibly, she noted. 

With a languid flourish and a dramatic yawn, he made a show of stroking himself through the knickers. His hand slid smoothly over the soft fabric, pausing every few strokes to squeeze the head of his cock and sigh.

“Incorrigible,” she hissed conspiratorially. Her thumb ran over the strand of pearls, and she sighed. “I assume these can only be removed by actual licking, hm?” 

She looked up to find him biting his lip and nodding. “ _Minou-minou-minou…_ ” he drawled in beckoning. She rolled her eyes at the literal catcall. 

He looked extraordinarily pleased with himself, leaning back over the table in her damn Christmas tree knickers like he owned them. Which, she supposed, maybe he kind of did now. The fabric stretched to accommodate him just barely, but Godric, those panties were _ridiculous_.

“Or you could just watch me,” he suggested with a lop-sided grin.

She bit her lip, considering. A small damp spot was forming on the fabric, and she wondered how many times he’d done this. “Maybe I will,” she shrugged.

He grinned down at her, bending to kiss her forehead. “No, you won’t. Because I’m not coming in your panties. Today.” His thumbs hooked in the waistband and yanked them down, suddenly nude.

The pearl bracelet was like some kind of posh elderly woman’s attempt at body jewelry. The clasp with the “B” was centered directly above his cock, and the whole strand was arranged in a perfect circle. It was grotesque and oddly beautiful against his porcelain skin.

“This is the most macabre thing I think I’ve ever seen,” she blurted, examining the situation. His long, particularly elegant length extended, ending in a blushing tip, but all around the base were the damned pearls.

“At least Harry didn’t stuff your balls through it,” she chuckled, tracing the beads.

Frustrated, he sighed, “Not for lack of trying, I assure you.”

“It’s like some kind of demon-summoning scene,” she mused. “But… for cock.”

“Oh, for Salazar’s sake, Granger, could you please just take it off?” he huffed, exasperated. “I didn’t exactly put it there willingly, and it’s not terribly comfortable.”

“Aww,” she mocked, dropping to her knees in front of him. “Show me where the big, bad Auror hurt you. I think I can kiss it all better.”

His jaw dropped briefly before he smiled softly, recognizing his own words to her the night he’d stolen these knickers. She did pity him, though. It did look rather annoying.

Experimentally, she licked the bracelet clasp. It dropped away from his skin immediately, and she sighed through her nose, relieved. Licking a long swipe up one side, the strand fell loose, but his breath hissed in as the remaining pearls tugged against skin under the weight of the others.

Ignoring his flushed head tempting her with a single clear bead of fluid offered up on the tip, she made quick work of licking the other side, and below him. Bracelet finally free, she slowly rolled the pearls up his shaft, pausing to swirl her tongue over the end of him.

He inhaled sharply at the lick, his grip tight on the table behind him. She held the bracelet up to him, but he shook his head. “It belongs to the youngest Black heiress,” he whispered. “She’ll be along soon enough.”

Intellectual curiosity and lust wrestled inside her. He’d been hinting all day, but did she want to stop now for a serious discussion?

It would be much more fun to listen to him gasp and then go silent as she slid him in her mouth. As would laying him back on the table and giving in to his earlier urging. When in need of reprieve, Draco produced the most exquisite soft pants, whispered profanities, and hushed pleas.

Harry had said he suspected Draco had been having Seer dreams again, and she did want to ask him about his comment. But her hand was already around his length, stroking. Questions could wait.

Gray eyes watched her indecision, smiling knowingly. His lips parted in soft veneration as hers slid over the tip of him, tongue pressing him along the roof of her mouth to the back of her throat in one long stroke.

The soft pant of his breath above her provoked the heat coiling between her own legs. Her fingers crept down to tease her clit while the other held his hip, keeping her balance. Tension built quickly under her own touch, distracting her from him.

“Tsk, itchy witch. No coming yet,” he murmured lazily.

“Why not?” She scowled up at him, both hands sliding slowly down his length. Harry had pulled her back from the edge earlier, too. It seemed to be a bit of a pattern today.

He shrugged, hips jerking as her hands passed over his sensitive tip. “Special occasion. Better find something else to do with that hand.”

His amused smile faded at the devious glint in her eye as her hand left his groin to travel up the back of his thigh. “And who made the rules for this mysterious special occasion?”

“Uhm,” he stammered, as her fingers found his slick entrance, teasing. She silently thanked whoever had taught him that spell. “I guess- Group effort-”

“Hm,” she mused, pressing a finger against him. Her other hand slid idly along his shaft. “That’s vague.”

Her middle finger slid smoothly inside him, and he rewarded her with a heaved sigh. Eyes drifting shut, his hips moved in small circles, alternately nudging into her hand and back onto her waiting finger.

“More?” she offered, already knowing the answer. He nodded, gripping the table edge in anticipation.

His shoulders edged down, relaxed, as she slid a second finger inside. His growing quietude settled the remaining anxious flutter in her chest. How he could be so much more at ease like this, she would maybe never truly understand, but it was a privilege to grant it to him, nonetheless.

For a moment, she was content to watch him softly reacting to her slow passes over the tip of him, and her rhythmic pressure inside, beyond the deepest root of him. “More,” he whispered softly, surprising her.

She slid her fingers out, coating a third one, and gently pressed the tented tips of them back against him. With another sigh, he relaxed as they slid inside, tight around her knuckles.

As captivating as his passive euphoria was, and it was, she was more eager to watch him unravel under her touch. Crooking her fingers, she started a gentle movement inside him, and he gasped in response, hands leaving the table edge to settle on her hair.

“Somehow, Draco,” she whispered. “I don’t think this whole case of the Cursed Furbies really needed my help, did it?”

He hummed noncommittally, lips pursed, intent on her ministrations. “And somehow, I don’t think you’re actually here on official Gringotts business.” Her mouth slid over the tip of him, delivering a languid, tongue-rolling suck, and he groaned breathlessly in response.

“And I certainly don’t think your bullshit reason for Ron coming in has anything to do with that fucking KinderEgg,” she accused, pushing her fingers in and curling them firmly against his prostate, pressing circles.

Without preamble, she slid his cock over her tongue, sliding the head of him into her throat, pausing as her nose touched his abdomen before bobbing back, taking a deep breath.

“Fucking hell, Granger,” he hissed. “You suck cock like you own one.” Half-lidded grey eyes watched her in near-helpless ardor.

Glaring up at him, she repositioned her fingers inside him, stretching him a touch and watching his eyes flutter shut. 

“Tell me I’m wrong about any of it, Draco,” she implored, easing off of him so he could collect his wits.

He shook his head in refusal, and she huffed in frustration. Her lips slid him past her teeth as her fingers stroked circles inside him. Her own desire built steadily as he lost himself in the rhythm. Her cheeks and lips sucked while her throat and tongue worked over the sensitive tip of him.

His soft moans gave way to soundless punctuated breaths that made her core quiver in anticipation of his release. 

_“Fuck. Fucking- Shit…”_ Murmured curses fell from his lips as his hips picked up pace between her fingers and her mouth, and she leaned into him on both sides of the movement. His hot length had grown impossibly hard, and she knew he was close.

“ _Stop_ ,” he rushed, squirming and gently pushing her head away. Frustrated, she sucked hard on the tip of him and pulled her fingers slowly down the back of his prostate. “Dammit, Granger, _stop_ ,” he half-chuckled, half-shouted.

She withdrew her mouth with a pop, pouting, but left her fingers in place. “What’s wrong?” His hips were still pressing eagerly against her hand, so she was fairly certain he wasn’t in pain. He didn’t look uncomfortable in the least.

A scarlet blush had crept up his chest, gracing his cheeks. Mussed platinum hair fell into his eyes on one side, and was slicked back under a light sheen of sweat on the other. His grey eyes watched her face intensely as his breathing slowed.

“It’s…” he started, biting his lip in hesitation. She slid her fingers a touch deeper, wiggling them in reminder. He hummed, eyelids drooping.

“Don’t you dare tell me it’s a special fucking occasion, Draco,” she warned, curling one finger down, stretching him as she withdrew a touch. He groaned, low and eager at the sensation. 

The sound of him so hungry for more, and so terribly pliant rumbled like thunder through her, collecting in her groin. Her upper thighs were slick against each other as she shifted her knees, leaning back to watch him.

She could bring him to climax like this and watch him spill himself into her waiting hand. Or catch him in her mouth. If she wanted, she could lean him back onto the table and ride him till they both came. He wasn’t usually one to resist gratification.

“Not…” he panted. “My idea.” 

“Why, then? Why the teasing and the Furbies and why _the fucking rings_ , Draco?” Hermione shouted, escalating, punctuating her interrogation with a solid thrust of her fingers and stroke down his shaft with her other hand.

“I can’t,” he growled, arching back to meet an expected next thrust she refused to deliver. “Ron would kill me.”

“That’s what Harry said, too.” Leaning forward, she kissed the crease of his groin, thinking. “Why is Ron the fucking orgasm police today?” She emphasized the question with a lick down his sac.

He shuddered as the cold air hit the wet line she’d left. “He’s not- He just-” Draco adjusted his hips against her hand, wavering between wanting more and needing to stop. “He made some good points, and- Fucking hell, stop doing _that_.”

Grinning wickedly, she stopped the subtle walking motion of her fingers inside him, and started withdrawing them. He was a little too much fun to play with, she mused as she cast a quick wandless cleaning charm on her hand.

Standing, she rose on tip-toe, and he bent down, assuming she was rising for a kiss. Instead, she angled the tip of his cock against the cleft of her mound and leaned forward, sliding him into the slickness of her folds, thighs clenched tight.

He hummed low in appreciation, hips involuntarily jerking forward. “Mm… You’re going to regret that move, Granger,” he hissed against her lips as his hands found her ass cheeks.

His fingers dug into the soft flesh above her thighs, and he thrust himself across her opening, brushing her clit in the process. The burning need that had been smoldering all morning burst into flames as her body reacted.

She’d intended to tease him with her own arousal, not considering what it would feel like to have him sliding deliciously close to her core, teasing her with every stroke. 

Her hips tilted up in offering, trying to entice him to enter her, but he slid across again. The glistening length of him drew back again, and she raised a knee up his hip, precariously balanced on the ball of one foot, arms around his back.

He bit his lip and smiled down at her, shaking his head while his cock skimmed her entrance again, ignoring her body’s plea. 

“I can do this dance for _hours_ , itchy little witch.”

——————————

A hard knock sounded at the door, and she hissed in a breath. Maybe someone had arrived who would save her from this relentless onslaught of near-orgasms.

Draco’s face rose from between her thighs, and she lifted her shoulders from the table.

“Yes?” He drawled in the direction of the door, making no move to collect his clothing. His thumb still gently pressed above her clit, and she squirmed, neither toward nor away from him.

“It’s us,” came Harry’s voice. Draco stood to walk to the door, but stopped and looked down at her.

“Hands _not_ to yourself, Granger,” he ordered with mock sternness, leaning down to eye-level and pressing her palms to the table on either side of her butt. “I’ll not have you rubbing one out with my back turned after all that.”

With a soft growl, she complied, sitting awkwardly on the edge of the table. She’d only just then thought of plunging her fingers into her desperate, soaked core and finally coming, and he’d perfunctorily nixed it.

He turned back to the door, unlocking it with a flick. Breath a steady pant, she watched him walk, eyes glued to the hard length he’d refused to share.

Absently, she thought she should be concerned someone in the hall would see her sitting naked, flushed, and frantic. Involuntary sparks tickled her fingertip, disappearing into the tabletop, but the slick heat under her slit was far more distracting.

Draco let them in, hiding behind the door as he opened and closed it, and she was distracted by the curve of his backside as Ron and Harry entered. Ron carried an inch-thick file folder in his hand and a visible scowl under his thick auburn beard.

“This load of bollocks,” he brandished the file folder demonstrably, “took stops on Levels One, Two, Three, Four, and now Five. Including an awkward ride up the lift with my dad.”

The overhead light winked off a thin silver band and a black band on Ron’s ring finger, but most of her attention was drawn to the way his jeans hugged his thighs. Her mind registered the biting sparks at her fingertips as she thought about Ron picking her up and fucking her against a wall, but only barely.

Draco perked up. “The Being Division? You got the twins’ paperwork sorted?”

Ron nodded and handed the folder off to a nude Malfoy, nonplussed. “Dad said you made a scene at the gate this morning.”

“Multipass,” Draco announced, looking up stern-faced from the contents of the folder.

Ron glanced at Harry for an explanation, thoroughly confused. “I took him to a Bruce Willis marathon. Just ignore it.”

Ron shrugged, turning to Hermione, and she wiggled excitedly under his gaze. His blue eyes weren’t especially eager, but she knew they would be soon. Nor did the slight bulge in his jeans look ready, but she was ready enough for both of them, and the sparks under her hands were starting to feel good.

“Oh, Lucifer,” Ron whispered, both men’s gaze following his to settle on her. Her nipples tightened and knees spread slightly under their combined attention. Draco’s hand slid down to cup himself in response, and she hummed her approval. The sparks agreed with her.

“She is in a fucking _state_ ,” Ron assessed, grimacing. “I always thought the saying about witches giving off sparks was a euphemism. What on earth did you two _do_ to her?”

“Yippee kay yay, mother fuckers?” Draco whispered sheepishly, mostly to Harry, who rolled his eyes.

“We did what you said,” Harry told Ron, justified. “Kept her entertained all morning, just didn’t fuck her.” Draco nodded, confused by Ron’s exasperation.

“I said ‘Keep her entertained, but don’t _just_ fuck her all morning,” Ron sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and waving a file folder. “I needed you two to keep an eye on her so I could get all the paperwork done.” 

“Oh…” Draco and Harry both groaned.

“Godric be damned, I didn’t want her to be shagged out and cockdrunk, but you two dumb wankers took it the entirely other direction.” Ron’s eyes rolled up to the ceiling, swearing under his breath. “I thought maybe you’d play a board game or something, not _this_.” Ron chastised them both, shaking his head at Hermione. His disapproval intrigued her, and she very much wanted to do things with him to earn his approval. Hot, slick, thrusting kinds of things, she mused.

Draco turned to Harry. “I mean, there was a scavenger hunt.” Harry shrugged.

“Hey, ’Mione, you capable of Apparating?” Ron asked, coming closer. His hand rested on her cheek, and her mouth turned toward it, but not fast enough to catch him.

Frowning, she struggled to understand beyond the need to feel his skin under her hands. And that _beard_ , Merlin Almighty, she wanted it against her mouth, and her neck, and between her thighs, which made her think of the tightly curled ginger hair on _his_ thighs. She bit her lip, eyes flicking between his beard and his concealed groin, mentally contrasting the two. 

“Please?” she whispered, not sure why he was just standing there watching her.

“That’s a big ‘no’, then.” Ron scowled. “Gods below, she’s burning up. Draco, you’re a shit Healer.”

Draco pouted, leaning, still nude, against a clothed Harry. “She’s more than a little irresistible when she’s all itchy and bitchy.” Harry nodded in guilty agreement.

Ron’s scent so close made her eyes flutter, and her hands crackled in anticipation. Surely he would touch her soon, she thought, watching him carefully. Her gaze flicked to Harry, who was sliding his hands down Draco’s sides. 

A rush of memory flooded her, and she couldn’t taste or feel past the recollection of Draco’s skin against hers. With a whimper, she looked up to find blue eyes watching her, but her vision was limned in electric crackles.

“Congrats, gents, you’ve pushed the Brightest Witch of Our Age out of her damned wits,” he said tersely to the other two.

“Hey, ‘Mione,” he said softly, cupping her chin in his hands. “Want to find a broom closet?”

—————————————

Her nails dug into the skin of his chest as pleasure built and crested, ripping another climax through her. Breath panting in a staccato moan, her hips ground his cock deeper inside as her core spasmed. His fingers dug into her hips, his breathing carefully even, blue eyes steadily watching her face as she slowed and relaxed.

Harry’s voice rang out from the side. “Ten points!”

“Eight-point-nine from the French judge,” Draco drawled, sprawled across Harry’s lap in his office armchair. “ _Ennuyant_ ,” he muttered, faking a yawn.

One of Ron’s hands left her hip to slowly extend his middle finger to the two men. 

“Disqualified,” Draco huffed. 

Hermione’s attention pulled like warm taffy away from Ron underneath her to the two men in the chair. Blinking slowly, she scowled in confusion. Draco was wearing nothing but the Christmas tree knickers, which Harry had his hand in.

Ron caught the change in her expression and rubbed her thighs on either side of his hips, drawing her attention to him. Sighing, she gripped the back of the couch. She was straddling him on the navy blue couch in Harry’s office. And she was naked under a set of Auror robes. She shivered, her earlier heat having dissipated.

Ron patted her hip, urging her off him. She curled contentedly in the scarlet robes against the far corner of the couch, laying her head on the armrest. Looking up his body, she noted he hadn’t come. And all the dampness between her thighs seemed to be her own.

With a gasp, she blurted, “I didn’t cast a contraception charm.” But apparently it hadn’t been needed?

“Nope, you refused to,” Harry said, wincing as Draco shifted positions on his lap. “That’s why we elected Ron to bring you back down.”

“I thought it was because Weasley was our king,” Draco snarked, hand urging Harry’s touch lower.

She eyed them suspiciously, “But Draco-“

“ _But Draco_ is saving himself for-“ Harry’s hand clapped over Draco’s mouth, which he tried to pry away. Their rings glinted in the soft light from the fireplace. Draco’s tongue poked out between Harry’s fingers, earning him a not-uninterested grunt.

Ron winked, lop-sided grin barely visible. “I was voted least likely to accidentally detonate.”

“And least likely to get Crucioed if you did,” Harry added, half-joking. His free hand ran up and down Draco’s thigh, and she wondered which one of them it calmed. Both, perhaps.

“I wouldn’t…” She trailed off, studying Ron. They’d talked about this for a year. Maybe longer.

He’d sat up on the couch, opposite her, cross-legged, leaning over with his elbows on his knees. His fingers worked in his beard, and he looked entirely too serious for a naked man on a couch.

She glanced at Draco and Harry, who were suddenly rather sober. Draco’s earlier leisurely sprawl was gone, and he sat on Harry’s thigh like he was issuing judgement from a throne.

“You may or may not end up an anonymous case study in Mungo’s Missives, _ma chatte_ ,” Draco said, somewhat impersonally. “That was… fascinating.”

Yawning, she shrugged. It was hard to take a man in Christmas tree panties seriously. Godric’s gonads, though, they looked good on him.

“I don’t think excellent shagging is worthy of a writeup.”

Harry leaned out from behind Draco’s shoulder, resting on the opposite armrest. “You melted handprints into the table.”

Ron bit the inside of his lip, thinking. “You had sparks in your eyes while you did it.”

“Oh…” she murmured softly. “I didn’t know they were real. I thought something was wrong with my eyes.”

At the time, she’d thought she was losing consciousness when the edges of her vision had faltered, but that memory blended with one of Ron sliding thick fingers inside her to quell the storm. Heat rushed up the skin of her chest and tightened in her core, and she fluffed the Auror robe to cool off.

“I’ll proofread your case study,” she said with a tired smirk.

“I’ll give you a copy in nine months or so,” he said with pointed nonchalance. Harry pulled Draco back against his chest, forcing a soft _oomph_ from him.

“You can’t silence me, Harold,” he hissed. “Are we going to address the insistent ovaries in the room?”

The fire crackled loudly in the sudden stillness. Ron waited patiently while Draco glared at her, a rant obviously barely held back. Harry found sudden interest in his chair’s upholstery.

Frowning at her own apprehension, she tried to form the words. She’d talked to them each about this individually several times, and they were all on the same page. So why was it so uncomfortable to ask them together to act on it?

“Uhm, yeah, I guess,” Hermione started. Three pairs of eyes stared at her, and she kept hard eye contact with the fireplace, not wanting to address one of them specifically.

“Could we- Uhm- Make-another-baby-tonight,” she gushed. “Please?”

Panic inched up her throat as silence fell again. Harry cleared his throat and whispered something to Draco, who nodded.

“Yeah, you know I’m in,” Harry confirmed, not a shred of reservation.

“Of course,” Ron said, shrugging. “Yule log over there,” he said, pointing a thumb at Draco’s knickers, “Has been having Seer dreams about our kids for how long?”

Dark blonde brows furrowed in thought, he bit the inside of his lip, thinking. “Three or four years as humans. Eight if you count when they were birds,” he said slowly. “She’s mad about being the youngest.” 

He chewed idly on a fingernail, and they all knew better than to press him. 

“So…” she led, half-hoping one of them would pick up the thread for her, “shall we maybe go home? Or should I go back up to my desk and spent the afternoon finishing up some research?”

Harry glanced nervously at Ron. Ron bit his lip and turned to consult Draco. Draco rolled his eyes and hopped up from Harry’s lap to snatch something off the desk.

With a flourish, he held the KinderEgg in front of him, eyeing Ron and Harry. They each nodded, seemingly dumbstruck.

Draco patted where his trouser pockets would have been and frowned. “Ronnikins,” he cooed, tossing the egg, “be a dear and open this. I seem to be unarmed.”

Ron caught the egg, and Hermione wondered for the first time what was rattling around inside it. It jangled strangely, rather unlike the figurines she’d seen come out of them as a child.

Rummaging through the pockets of his discarded jeans on the floor, he drew out a tiny knife the length of his pinkie. Seeing it always made her smile. 

The ornate handle had a Crup engraved on the pommel, a strong likeness to the terrier Draco likened her to. He still insisted Ron’s Patronus was actually Hermione, not a regular terrier.

Ron nicked the skin between his pinkie and ring fingers, collecting the single drop on the knife blade. Pinching the fingers together, a thin line of blood flowed along the black and silver rings. He looked to the other two men, who nodded. A faint whine of magic filled the room, and abruptly stopped.

Draco settled kneeling on the floor between her and Ron. Harry came to stand next to her arm of the couch. Both of them watched Ron’s hands nervously. Harry’s hand gripped the armrest next to her, firelight glinting off silver and copper. Draco twisted black and copper rings.

With sudden understanding, her stomach dropped, and she gasped. _Special occasion... Three years, almost exactly… The paperwork…_

The egg popped open in Ron’s hands, and he dumped something in his palm with a tinkle, closing it immediately. With a smirk, he held a closed palm out to Harry, and passed something into his hand, and then did the same with Draco.

All three of them looked at her expectantly, and she had a strong suspicion what was in their hidden fists. The silence was thick. Her skin flushed hot as she sat up, knowing her participation was going to be required shortly.

Harry cleared his throat and looked down at her, first to disturb the hush.

“Happy anniversary, Hermione,” he said, leaning over to kiss the top of her head.

Startled by the banality, she huffed out a breath, not sure exactly what he meant.

“We have an anniversary?” she mumbled, doubting her earlier suspicions about what was in the egg.

Draco squinted at Ron. “Told you. Firewhiskey.” Ron rolled his eyes and nodded.

“Three years ago, I got a dinner invitation from a long-lost Hermione Granger,” Ron stated cooly. She smirked, knowing he’d chosen to recount a booty call as a date.

“And I got slapped in a park,” Draco added, nodding. “Rightfully so.” Draco looked to Harry to add something meaningful.

“I… was also there.” Harry stammered, wincing at his own words. Hermione cringed in sympathy. Draco looked up at him, shaking his head softly. “Good contribution, _mon coeur_.” She couldn’t help but smile at everyone’s low expectations of eloquence from Harry.

Ron held a closed fist out to her, palm down, waiting. Apprehension and excitement coiled in her gut as she extended a hand. With a glance to the other two men, he poured three gold rings in her palm.

She wasn’t certain what she expected, but it hadn’t been precisely this. They were uniform, rather thin, each with a wavy etching on them that reminded her vaguely of her curls. They were three different sizes, she noticed, stacking them in a neat pile. Firelight hit the etchings, and the metal glowed beautifully.

Not certain what to do with them, she looked up to Ron, and found all three of them watching her expectantly. Anxious sweat broke out on her palms, and she fought the urge to wipe them on the borrowed Auror robes.

Ron turned his other hand over, opening it. A thin hammered copper band rested in his palm. Draco followed suit, a feather-etched silver ring in his. Turning, she watched Harry reveal a black, lightning-imprinted band.

So, they’d had some jewelry made. It was sweet, and very thoughtful, but it didn’t feel like as big a deal as all this. These could easily just be from Ron’s stock at Wheeze’s.

Ron cleared his throat and swallowed thickly. “Hermione, would you have us?” he whispered.

A hot flush flooded her chest, on the heels of abrupt comprehension. Not just jewelry, then.

Swarming dots flooded her vision as she tried to calm her breathing. This wasn’t a thing that could happen, was it? Maybe her cultural knowledge was sometimes lacking, but this couldn’t be an option, could it?

“Is… is this real?” she croaked. “I mean, is this, like, a really real thing?”

She looked around at them, trying to read their expressions, but they were all over the place. Harry looked like he was about to vomit. Ron’s brow was knit in concentration. Draco was… smirking?

“ _Two_ bottles of Firewhiskey, Weasley,” he gloated. He turned to her, snotty expression shifting to a beaming grin. “Yes, _ma chatte_ , it’s real. Uncommon, but it’s a legitimate binding.”

Ron finished rolling his eyes at Draco’s taunt, adding, “We planned it in the Ministry walls and had the paperwork signed off on in advance, so it’ll appear on its own in the Troth-Plight Book upstairs. Someone will eventually leak it to the press, but we can have this. Just us.”

Struck dumb, she stared at the three gold rings in her hand, pieces shifting into place. It made no sense at all, and all the sense in the world. _They_ made sense even as they defied logic. The four of them together. The bed that had filled until it felt right. And the home they’d built that was slowly reaching its proper capacity.

Blinking away tears, she nodded. They had become so much more than lovers, as she’d intended. They were family. Part of her down to her marrow. Fathers to her children, and she the mother of theirs, bloodlines be damned. Already intertwined and inseparable in ways a dusty book in a Ministry office could never portray.

Harry nudged the armrest with his hip, catching her attention. “Jump the broom with us, itchy witch,” he said with a playful wink.

With a short sob-turned-laugh, she nodded again, breath shuddering out. “It’s… it’s just kind of sudden. I mean, we haven’t talked about it.”

Harry gave her a lop-sided grin and looked at the other two. “ _We’ve_ talked about it,” he clarified. “Is three years that sudden?”

“We downright strategized,” Ron said, nodding in agreement. “And yeah, if living together for years is sudden, I don’t know what patient is.”

“Is years of ‘I love you” sudden?” Draco questioned, challenging her with open affection. Sighing, she smiled back, nodding in agreement. The knickers suited him much better than his earlier outfit, she thought.

“Or years of waking up together?” asked Ron. Her throat caught, remembering the loneliness of waking up on the couch this morning. Such a far cry from opening her eyes to Ron on one side of her, and Harry and Draco on the other.

“Years of raising a family together?” asked Harry. He sounded wistful, and her eyes watered. Of all of them, he’d had the most opportunities and reasons to avoid their domestic entanglement. He could have declared himself “Uncle Harry” and moved out, but here he was. Still in the thick of it and ready for more. Always choosing them.

Tears flowed down her cheeks in earnest, dropping onto the scarlet robes. Wiping her face on the fabric of the sleeve, she sniffled, regaining a small measure of composure. 

They’d become so much more together than they’d started out, each of them pathologically independent and quietly, utterly miserably lonely. Gods, she’d been alone in crowded rooms for nearly a decade before their paths had circled back together. They all had.

Ron studied the ring in his hand, extending it slightly in offering. “To a few more years, then, ‘Mione?”

“And a few more after that?” Draco said, following suit, quiet vulnerability writ across his face.

“And a few more after those?” Harry finished, the black ring in his hand stark against his skin.

Vision blurry, she couldn’t directly look at them to say anything, and she had no words for this, anyhow. It was too much and too perfect. Too sudden and so long in coming.

A long-suppressed sob in her throat warred with burbling laughter from her chest and tears from her eyes. Her body settled on a supremely awkward choppy whimper that dissolved into full-on blubbering into the oversized sleeves of the robe.

“Yes,” she sobbed, straightening again and wiping her face. “Yes, Merlin’s beard, yes.”

Ron scooted forward first, holding out the copper band in one hand, and his own finger on the other. Catching on, she did the same.

“By sun,” he said solemnly, sliding his ring on her finger, waiting patiently as she did the same, one of her gold rings stacking onto his other two. The gold shone warmly with the black and silver. She turned to Harry next, picking the largest ring.

“By moon,” Harry said with a soft smile, sliding the black ring on, and accepting hers. She turned to Draco last, leaning down in front of her.

“By light of stars,” he said with a wide smile, sliding the silver band on her finger as she did the same.

“You are mine,” she whispered to them, as words came unbidden. Her throat felt tight, and the rings grew warm.

“And you are ours,” the three men said in unison, each with eyes darting in anticipation. 

Watching them, she wondered if they knew what to expect from this. They’d seemed rather confident in their plan, but maybe not their methods. It wouldn’t be unlike them to try an experimental binding ceremony. Horrified, she realized that was actually extremely likely.

“How do we know if it work-“ she started, but froze, gasping as the rings melded into one wider tricolor band, heat growing alarmingly. Scared, she looked to Ron, who seemed just as surprised as her. 

“It worked,” Draco declared, hopping up to nestle between her and Ron on the sofa.

Shrugging as the heat faded, she assumed it was a sign that a bond had been made. Nothing _felt_ different.

“Guys…. Gentleman…” she eased, not wanting to question their approach to such a beautiful gesture.

Harry perched on the armrest next to her, foot on the edge of the cushion wiggling under her thigh. “I think the word is ‘husbands’, but that sounds odd.”

“That does sound awkward. Especially for you two,” she said, looking to the entirely nude Ron on the other side of the knicker-clad Draco. Despite how open-minded she considered herself, it had taken her an embarrassingly long time to accept Ron’s platonic ease around other naked men.

Ron shrugged. “Mum adopted him as a Weasley years ago. Family’s family.”m Preening, Draco laid his head on Ron’s shoulder. “I wasn’t joking the first time I called you kin.” Ron ruffled the blond hair next to his face and smiled.

“So,” she interjected, “Was this binding between you three? Or just to me?” The implications of them each having three rings was becoming clear. 

“Yup,” Harry chirped happily from his perch on the armrest. “Ron just married a couple blokes.” Ron rolled his eyes in reply, and smacked a loud kiss on top of Draco’s head.

“I could do a lot worse, Har,” he retorted. “I change a _lot_ fewer nappies this way. And _he_ cooks. Best step it up.” Nodding, Harry acquiesced. 

“I’m Ron’s favorite husband.” Draco stuck his tongue out in mock victory.

Ron was right, though, that had always been obvious. She and Harry wouldn’t have had the option of working so many late nights without Draco willing to stay home with three small children. He wouldn’t have had it any other way, but they were all grateful to him.

“What about the kids?” she ventured, internally rather embarrassed that she hadn’t asked these questions before exchanging rings and words with them. But, she reasoned, none of them would act out of their collective best interest.

With a hum of interruption, Draco lifted his head to speak, swiping blond hair behind his ear. “Equal across the board. Four legal guardians for all four miscreants.”

“Four?” she squeaked. All three of them stared at her flatly. “Oh, right. Four. Soon.” Lost in the details of what had indeed been a _Special Occasion_ , she’d almost forgotten why they were arranged on a couch in progressive levels of nudity.

“Any other questions, _ma chatte_?” Draco drawled, lazily sliding a hand down his lower abdomen to disappear behind cartoon Christmas trees.

“Several, actually,” she huffed, ignoring his hand. Harry, she noticed, was watching the knickers with fascination. Turning, she caught Ron watching her examine Harry’s reaction, and they both smiled knowingly.

Draco’s head flopped back over the top of the sofa in annoyance. “You have my slightly-divided attention for five minutes, and then I’m going to wank till someone helps me.”

“Where did you learn this? What about the shitty things? Death? Infidelity? Divorce? Abuse?” she blurted, every relationship horror scenario flitting through her mind simultaneously. So much could go so horribly wrong.

Harry’s knee bounced nervously next to her shoulder, and she reached up to lay an arm on his thigh, wondering if he hadn’t considered those outcomes, either. Ron shrugged nonchalantly, utterly unconcerned.

Ticking off the items on his fingers, Draco spoke directly to the ceiling. “Goblins. Plural marriage is one of their mainstays. We weren’t certain it would work, but it definitely did.” He waggled his ring as proof.

“Death? People die. Divorce? People leave. Abuse? People disappear.” His head rolled over to look at Ron. “Especially when one of us is adept at body disposal.”

Ron dipped his chin, taking the compliment, but Harry flicked his fingertips across his neck in a silencing gesture. “You’re in the fucking DMLE. Shut it.”

“But we love fucking in the DMLE, _mon coeur_.” Draco kissed the air in Harry’s direction, and she had to smile at the banter.

“Infidelity? What even is that? Muggle concept.” Draco’s head rolled, grey eyes coming to rest on her. “I was joking about creating a form and submitting it in triplicate, but I’ll do it if you want.”

The unorthodox start of their arrangement had somewhat bypassed the discussion of other partners. Instead, she’d abruptly found out early on that he maintained a short list of occasional lovers. Other than the odd conversational blunder, it hadn’t caused any issues.

“No, I think I get my fill of forms at work.” She smirked, toying with the idea of creating an inbox for said forms on the ledge above their bed. “You haven’t seen anyone else in quite a while, have you?”

“I’ve seen them, but not naked,” he hummed in the negative. “Just… not a priority.”

“Alright, then,” she concluded. “Keep us informed.”

Personally, she found it flattering that he’d chosen to create a life with them over people who’d shared his bed for years longer.

“Always do, _ma chatte_. Any other questions?” He adjusted himself, the flushed head of his cock popping above the top of the knickers. It caught her attention as much as Harry’s sudden stillness under her arm. The impressive bulge straining against his jeans was rather diverting, as well. Her nipples tightened, brushing against the Auror robes, and she was reminded she was still mostly naked.

She shook her head, “No questions I can think of.”

“Good!” he chirped. “Because I have a theory to test.” His hand squeezed his length tightly, and he hissed in a breath. Harry grunted softly behind her shoulder.

“My theory is…” he paused, for dramatic effect, “If you and I both fuck Harry hard enough, at the same time, we can make him scream _Ron’s_ name.”

———————————

Hermione wasn’t sure exactly what Draco was hissing behind Harry’s ear as his pale hands traced down the line of dark hair below Harry’s navel, but it had turned Harry’s face absolutely scarlet. He sagged slightly and leaned into the taller man behind him, despite the fact that Draco’s goal was to melt him into a gooey, incomprehensible puddle.

Humming softly at Ron’s slow graze between her legs, she watched as Draco’s fingers skimmed over fabric to press his hand down Harry’s hardening length. He groaned and thrust slightly into the pressure, held in place by the arm of the couch against the front of his thighs.

With a few quick flicks, Harry’s belt and trousers hit the floor in a soft thud to reveal a waving tent of frayed blue cotton.

“Honestly, _mon cochon_.” Draco tutted disdainfully against Harry’s hair. Harry’s breath shuddered at his bedroom epithet and his eyes rolled up to Draco’s, pleading.

“I swear to Merlin, Har,” Ron said, rising up from between her thighs. “You wear your worst underthings to the best occasions.”

His bearded chin rubbed idly against her thigh as she sat on the edge of the sofa, legs spread. The golden light from the desk lamp shimmered off the curve of the pale green satin briefs that hugged his decidedly luscious ass. They were a lovely contrast to the red-orange chest hair that trailed into the silky fabric.

Fingers skimmed either side of her clit, and she huffed impatiently. Raising his eyebrows inquisitively, Ron slid two fingers into her core and paused while her muscles squeezed him. Pleasure rippled through her at the contact, and her hips lifted in encouragement.

“Better?” Harry clipped, briefly regaining his senses. His full length and gratuitous thickness bobbed in front of him, and Draco reached down to wrap his fingers around it. 

Harry groaned, leaning into the armrest, and the sound thrilled through her with an accompanying quiver around Ron’s fingers. 

Draco waved Harry’s erection at her gently and sang, “ _Minou-minou._ ” She rolled her eyes at the heavy hint.

Ron withdrew his fingers and she frowned at the absence. He stood, bringing a satin-clad erection within her reach, and both her hands drifted to the waistband of his briefs. 

Usually, she liked to take her time to unwrap such a lovey package, but there was too much on offer today. Anticipation and mounting desire got the better of her, and she shucked them straight down, relishing the familiar sight of him thick and ready.

Leaning forward, she swirled her tongue over his head before sliding him over her tongue in one swift movement. His gasp burned through her as her own fingers drifted to her clit, chasing the tension that had gathered.

Draco clicked his tongue, drawing her attention back to Harry. His eyes were shut, head leaned back against the blonde’s shoulder, immersed in Draco’s stroking. Draco withdrew his hand as she turned and knelt on the cushions, her elbows settling on the armrest in front of Harry.

The sofa sank behind her as Ron settled in. His warm, rough hands stroked across her back, down her ass, and back up her thighs. Goosebumps followed the wake of his touch as impatience niggled at her. The patient, soothing hands skimming her body only stoked the urge to plunge both men inside her. 

A feather-light touch swept up her slit, and her hips leaned back in invitation. The round head of Ron’s cock slid up her clit to her entrance, and she held her breath in anticipation as he pressed himself into her. Her core seized around him as she sighed in eager relief.

Above her, Harry’s hazel-green eyes watched patiently as she took a tentative lick off the tip of him, drawing in a waiting bead of his fluid. Draco’s gray gaze studied her from over Harry’s tanned shoulder before nudging Harry’s feet wider and kneeling behind him.

Harry groaned as she slid the tip of him as far back as she could manage, her own body protesting as she pulled away from Ron. Ron edged forward, urging her further onto Harry. Harry jerked, and a deep moan rumbled from him as she heard Draco behind Harry, tongue working.

Hermione’s hands overlapped Draco’s on Harry’s hips, and she smiled as Ron eased her back.

Behind her, Ron started a rhythm, pulling eager moans from all of them as he thrust deep.

Pleasure coiled, hot and deep in her hips and she met him, each stroke bringing her closer. Ron’s chest dropped over her, one hand on the armrest, the other snaking between her slick folds, pressing down on her clit.

Tension rose, and in a few short thrusts, broke as he cried out, grinding into her as she moaned her own release around Harry’s cock. Her core clenched around Ron, dragging every drop possible from his body.

Sighing, she leaned forward onto Harry while Ron withdrew. Draco’s hands slid away from Harry’s hips as he stood, one of them skimming down Harry’s backside, making him whimper eagerly.

“ _Ma chatte_ ,” Draco instructed, wiping his mouth on Harry’s shoulder. “Come have a seat.” He patted the armrest in front of Harry as he pulled the other man back a step.

Blond hair hiding his face, he leaned over and whispered something to Harry as his hand once again found the base of his cock. Draco’s other hand slid down Harry’s cleft, teasing his entrance.

“ _Ablunguo_ ,” Harry groaned, arching back onto the waiting fingers.

She froze at the same time as Ron yelped, both startled, as an odd rumbling sensation followed by a cool slickness coated her own hole. 

Shouts and slamming furniture sounded down the hall, and they all hesitated, watching the door.

Draco snorted a laugh behind Harry’s head. “ _Mon cochon_ , you’ve prepped the DMLE. Well done.” She expected further goading, but Draco’s shoulder stiffened as he slid fingers inside Harry.

Harry’s entire body reacted to the welcome intrusion. His hip canted back against Draco’s hand as his head fell forward, eyes shut.

“Turn around, ‘Mione,” Ron reminded gently, patting her backside. She clambered inelegantly onto the armrest to face a rather distracted Harry.

They were absolutely beautiful, she thought to herself. They were perfect. And they were hers. Affection and pride filled her chest, and she blinked away a threatened tear. 

A whispered pant from Harry drew her attention. “ _Please… please…. Dray…_ ” he chanted in time with the subtle movements of the alabaster shoulder behind him

Draco’s long pale fingers teasingly stroked Harry’s hard length, swiping around the tip of him at every pass. His other hand withdrew fingers from Harry’s ass, eliciting a petulant whine.

“Hang on,” Ron interrupted as he took the cushions off the couch and piled them up behind her, nearly level with the armrest. He positioned himself with one foot on the floor and the other on the bare couch frame, already hard again. “Lay back when you’re ready, ‘Mione.”

Shaking her head in mock disbelief, she had to smile. Ron of the non-existent recovery time.

Draco whispered to Harry again, and he panted a quiet “Yes” that made her tighten in anticipation as she slid her hips forward for him.

The wide head of Harry’s cock nudged at her entrance as he stepped forward and his hands slid under her hips. She guided him into her slick heat, and they both gasped at the tight quivering of her muscles stretching around him. “Fuck, ‘Mione,” he whispered as he sank fully inside. “ _Fuck_.”

Gods, he was almost too much, but just right. A greedy whimper trickled from her throat as he started moving, gently stretching her. Pleasure built too quickly, and she tumbled into an unexpected climax, core grasping him as he moved.

He stilled, letting her catch her breath as she lay back onto the pile of cushions. Ron leaned forward, and she was eager to taste him. Their combined fluids were still slick against her lips.

Harry groaned, low and guttural, and she knew from the jerk in his cock and sudden impossible hardness that Draco had entered him. Ron’s skin flushed under her hands in response.

Draco’s voice murmured breathy curses against Harry’s neck as he thrust against him, driving him in turn into her.

Ron’s hands cradled her neck as Draco and Harry picked up speed and force. Fingers slid down her thigh to tease her clit, and she moaned around Ron at the sensation and wanton abandon of not knowing whose touch was bringing her close to orgasm again.

“Oh, gods,” Harry panted with each thrust. 

Her hands pulled and pushed Ron’s hips into her waiting mouth, releasing her own moans in a rough staccato as heat slithered through her and coiled deep inside with each stroke.

“Oh, fuck-” Harry choked. He drove himself into her, hard, mercilessly, dragging her over the edge with him as his cock throbbed inside her. Her walls gripped him as he came, waves of pleasure coursing through her.

Behind him, Draco hissed a breath and leaned his weight forward. Harry moaned, hips arching back greedily to take him.

Ron’s muscles tensed under her hands and he swore under his breath, filling her mouth as quickly as she could swallow him down. He pulled away and leaned down to kiss her. Awkward, upside down, she thought, but sweet nonetheless.

Sitting up, she watched Harry shake his head, trying to collect his wits, one hand braced on the back of the couch, the other on the armrest. Blond hair trailed over his shoulder as Draco ran his lips over the expanse of skin.

“ _Dans le cochon tout est bon_ ,” Draco murmured, lips pressed against Harry’s neck while his hand skimmed down the dark trail of hair to wrap around the base of Harry’s cock. “ _De la queue…_ ” he whispered, trailing kisses up to Harry’s chin, “ _jusqu’au menton. _” His hand slid Harry’s cock out and they leaned back together, still entwined.__

__From her cushion pile, she reclined and watched as Draco slowly eased himself away from Harry, who shuddered a sigh at the sudden emptiness. Pale hands gently turned Harry around, sitting him on the armrest as Draco leaned down to kiss him, fingers entwined in his dark hair._ _

__“Scoot over, couch hog.” Draco mumbled over Harry’s shoulder as he laid the decidedly languid Head Auror down next to her. She rolled to her side and propped her head on his chest as he landed, her legs bending under his as he slid his feet onto the armrest. Harry’s arm slid around her shoulders as she settled in with a heavy sigh, finally sated._ _

__Ron and Draco were engaged in a discussion that involved a fair amount of gesturing at her and Harry on their precarious pillow pile, but her eyelids felt too heavy to pay attention._ _

__“Worth a try,” Ron mumbled as he riffled through the discarded clothing on the floor. He found his wand and brandished it lazily. “ _Fulcro novelle_.”_ _

__Cushions jerked out from under her, and she squawked while clinging to an equally startled Harry. With a jolt, they landed, her face buried in Harry’s armpit._ _

__Cool sheets under her skin startled her. They couldn’t have Apparated out of the Ministry building, could they? Rising to an elbow, she took in the new bed with navy sheets._ _

__Draco frowned at the newly-minted four-poster bed. “I still think you should have used something less archaic, like _Lectuno-_.”_ _

__A soft but insistent gong sounded; the Headquarters-wide public address system starting a message. She and Harry perked up immediately, expecting a warning or drill._ _

__Harry groaned, throwing an arm over his face, as if he could hide from the summons._ _

__A stern female voice cleared its throat, testing. Moments ticked by. She looked to Ron and Draco, who were studiously avoiding eye contact with each other._ _

___“INDUCTION OF THE HOUSE OF GRANGER.”__ _

__The gong sounded a second time and the message concluded._ _

__Stunned, they sat in silence. Hermione opened her mouth, index finger raised, but hesitated. Ron shrugged, shaking his head. Draco examined his ring thoughtfully, tracing the etchings. Quiet reigned until footsteps and murmurs of conversation drifted down the hall._ _

__With a flick of his wrist, Harry locked the office door. She frowned, having assumed the door was locked long ago. Bit negligent._ _

__Draco scooped up armfuls of clothes and turned to the fireplace._ _

__“May I suggest we go home?” he offered, eyeing the door and snatching a handful of Floo powder. “I don’t think the Progenitor of the House of Granger is through with us and I suspect there are absolute mountains of paperwork in our near future if we linger.”_ _

__Shaking off her surprise, she followed him, nodding. They needed to get out of here with their dignity intact. The bed may be a dead giveaway, but they didn’t need to witness its discovery._ _

__“Wheal Elvan,” Draco announced, disappearing in green flames._ _

__Ron grabbed the file folder, picked up the remaining clothes, and did the same. “Wheal Elvan.”_ _

__“Wheal Elvan,” she muttered, and braced herself for the disorientation._ _

__With a lurch, she stumbled out onto their hearth rug into Draco and Ron’s arms, with Harry following close behind her._ _

__Home._ _


End file.
